The Other Minister
by Lywick
Summary: Who says muggles can't do anything? When the British Prime Minister learns of Voldemort, as well as unchecked dementors roaming the country, he will not sit down and take it. No! He will stand up and make sure those wizards know who they're messing with. With the help of the American President Voldemort will regret he ever returned. Continued from Publicola's one shots "Wait, What?


**Disclaimer: Of coarse I own Harry Potter!... Well at least my book set. *sniff***

**This is a continuation of a series of oneshots by Publicola called "Wait, What?". (Chapter 8 if you want to read it yourself) It's a great series of oneshots and I would highly recommend everyone to read it as well as Publicola's other works. Anyway, this story is basically what would happen if muggles had played a larger part in the war. While the original oneshot placed a greater influence on the dementors, while this will be a large part of the story, a larger part will concentrate on the path the muggles would take against a force that they know nothing about, but that can be extremely dangerous. Yeah, they're gonna be a little paranoid. Its taking place in the late 1990s so any historical figures you may see will be from this time period. In addition some changes are made between the original oneshot and this in order or my plot to make more sense. Hopefully i'll be able to update within the next week. See you soon!  
**

**-The following takes place in the first chapter of Half Blood Prince-**

"And as if all that wasn't enough," said Fudge, barely listening to the Prime Minister, "we've got Dementors swarming all over the place, attacking people left, right, and center…"

Once upon a happier time this sentence would have been unintelligible to the Prime Minister, but he was wiser now. "I thought Dementors guard the prisoners in Azkaban," he said cautiously.

"They did," said Fudge wearily. "But not anymore. They've deserted the prison and joined He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I won't pretend that wasn't a blow."

"But," said the Prime Minister, with a sense of dawning horror, "didn't you tell me they're the creatures that drain hope and happiness out of people?"

"That's right. And they're breeding. That's what's causing all this mist."

The Prime Minister sank, weak-kneed, into the nearest chair. The idea of invisible creatures swooping through the towns and countryside …

"Wait, what?!" He suddenly made a connection and shot out of his chair. This was the last straw! "You say they're breeding? There's a group of invisible demon-thingys that first make people miserable and then kill them, and you lost control of them? And now they're breeding? Tell me you have a way to cull the population."

Fudge shuffled his feet. "Unfortunately not. The only known way to defeat a dementor is with a Patronus charm, and that only drives them away, it doesn't kill them."

The Prime Minister was torn. Part of him wanted to rage at the imbecile in front of him. Part of him wanted to curl up in a fetal position in the corner. And part of him wanted to laugh maniacally at the sheer insanity of it all.

"You mean to tell me these demon-thingys are unkillable? Why the hell would you use them anyway? Just how incompetent are you?"

"Now see here—!"

"No, you see here! Britain is about to be overrun by demons, and you think this, this You-Know-Who is a problem? Are you mad?" The Prime Minister took a deep breath and centered himself. "Okay, so we know killing them isn't an option. Have you considered containment? You had control of them before; can't you round them up and isolate them as you did before?"

Fudge's eyes shifted back and forth. "Er… ah… that is, well, the Patronus charm is a very taxing spell, and very few wizards are capable of casting it."

"So you're just as helpless as we are. Wonderful." The Prime Minister commented dryly.

Fudge sputtered indignantly. "Of course we aren't helpless! Every team of aurors we dispatch has at least one member capable of casting a Patronus. Our researchers in the Spirits Division are even now working on ways to bring their population back under our control. You may be helpless, but we have magic. It's offensive you would even think to compare the two."

The Prime Minister sat back in his chair. Okay. So the Minister for Magic is incompetent and bigoted. He ground out evenly, "So. You're working on ways to defend your people. May I ask how you plan on protecting the rest of us?"

Fudge straightened, "Well, I'm sorry but we are stretched thin as it is." He didn't sound terribly sorry at all. "Our resources are already taxed, and we simply haven't the time. Just try to think up something to keep everyone indoors. Maybe a gas leek."

"Are you serious? This is over 50 million lives at stake! And you want me to leave them all unprotected when they can be murdered by just stepping out of their house!" The Prime Minister cried ready to pull his hair out.

Fudge just stared at him. "Well they're just muggles" He said bemused.

The Prime Minister's mind went blank.

The silence was broken by the portrait on the wall. "To the Prime Minister of the Muggles. Requesting a meeting. Urgent. Kindly respond immediately. Rufus Scrimgeour, Minister of Magic."

Not comprehending, he turned to wizard. "But you said…"

Fudge glanced at him before quickly looking away. "I was let go of three days ago." He mumbled.

Well at least I won't have to deal with him anymore, he thought before turning to the portrait, "Yes, fine, send him through."

The conversation with the leonine Scrimgeour was largely unexceptional. The new Minister of Magic seemed far less offensive than the old. Yet the Prime Minister still held himself apart, not trusting in appearances. The man still seemed to regard him as though he was a child. Did these magic folk seriously believe that the lives of muggles where entirely inconsequential?

The revelation that his new secretary was an undercover wizard was disturbing, as was the fact that his Junior Minister's mind had been addled by a wayward Imperius curse.

"I… well… He'll be all right, won't he?" asked the Prime Minister anxiously.

Scrimgeour merely shrugged, already moving back toward the fireplace.

"Well, that's really all I had to say. I will keep you posted of developments, Prime Minister — or, at least, I shall probably be too busy to come personally, in which case I shall send Fudge here. He has consented to stay on in an advisory capacity."

Silently fuming the Prime Minister nodded, doing his best to keep a blank face. He watched them disappear into the bright green fire before sinking back into his chair, deep in thought. A few minutes later, he pressed the intercom.

"Gloria, please get me in touch with Washington. I need to speak with the President, and it's urgent." He paused. "See if you can't reach Ambassador MacGlashan while you're at it."

The intercom buzzed. "Maureen MacGlashan, the envoy to the Vatican?"

"That's right."

"Right away, sir."

The Prime Minister turned towards his desk and started taking notes of all he had learned. If magic existed, it wouldn't be limited to Britain. And if British wizards couldn't do their job, maybe other magicals from around the world could.

Ten minutes later the intercom buzzed. "Mr. Major, the President of the United States is on line"

"Thank you Gloria" he said, picking up the phone. He glanced at the door, still locked from before, and prayed that the wizards weren't using spells to listen in on him. It scared him to think that people who had such disregard for his life could have such control over him as well.

"Good evening John" Clinton said on the other line "what can I do for you?"

Sighing, John rubbed his forehead, doing his best to still his shaking hands as he thought of his current situation. "Bill, well there is no easy way to say this, but have you been briefed on the existence of wizards?" He rushed through, cringing at the thought of what a fool he had just made of himself.

There was a long pause on the other line.

"…Yes…I must say that I have." Clinton replied a slight tremble in his voice that John had never heard in all his years of contact with the president. "I must say I never have much to do with them though. The last time I talked to the Lord Minister was about five years ago when I first went into office"

John chuckled grimly, if only he had been blessed with such good fortune. "Well I don't know if you have been briefed but the past month, some of the oddest things have been going on here. Bridges collapsing, freak storms appearing out of no where, and just last night two horrifying murders."

Clinton replied with trepidation. "Yes of coarse, but what does this have to do with … the wizards?"

John sighed "Have you ever heard of Lord Voldemort? Or maybe even He-who-must-not-be-named?"

"No, I don't think I ever have."

John cursed. A mass murderer was on the loose and he was the only one those god-damned wizards had even thought of contacting? How incompetent where these fools?

"Do you even know about the existence of dementors?" He asked desperately.

"I'm sorry John, but no. Like I said, the only time the Lord Minister met with me was five years ago, and even that was only for a couple of minutes."

"I can believe that. I didn't even know about dragons until two years ago."

"Wait a minute. Did you say _dragons_?" Clinton exclaimed. John heard a loud thud on the other line. "Jesus Christ! How the hell did they manage to hide _that _from us?"

"I really don't think I want to know" John shuddered, memory charms where just _horrible _in his opinion, "But anyway, that aside, apparently a dementor is a soul-sucking demon capable of devouring a person's every happy thought and the magical government here has just lost control of them."

Major took Clinton's silence as a sign to continue.

"And it gets even worse. Apparently this Dark Lord Voldemort here in Britain has gotten hold of them and now they're breeding in the thousands. Thousands! Thousands of soul-sucking monsters roaming the countryside, ready to murder innocent civilians and me not being able to do a damn thing about it! Apparently us 'muggles' can't even _see_ the god-damn things!"

"But … but _surely_ the wizards have a way of dealing with them right? I … I mean they have magic! It should take just a wave of their wand and those dementor thingies will be gone for good!" Clinton stammered.

John chuckled darkly "That's exactly what I asked, and you know what they said? They don't have the _recourses_ available to deal with this. Apparently the only way they can repel those monsters is through a spell, a Patronum or Patrionus charm, something like that. And it doesn't kill them. The wizards have no way to kill those monsters; their numbers are growing exponentially, and they're under the control of a genocidal maniac bent on killing every non-magical person in sight. And apparently the wizards can't spare the _recourses_ to defend us. After all, we're only _muggles_."

"Calm down John. There's no use getting so upset that you can't think. Now, you're _sure_ the wizards won't help you?" questioned Clinton. John rubbed his brow trying to calm down. It was no use getting overly emotional. He had to think rationally if he would ever be able of getting his people out of this mess.

"Bill, I'm going to quote that buffoon Fudge myself. 'Well, they're just muggles'. " He stated calmly. "Apparently, all we are good for is a backdrop. And what happens if you get a bit of paint on a backdrop? You just paint over it! From their point-of-view we are not the main players in this war, hell, we're not even players at all. And as a result if a hundred or so of us are killed per day what's the worry? Two wizards get killed however? It's the worst thing imaginable.

"That's why I called you Bill. I am going to change things. But I can't do it alone. I'm even going to have a conversation with one of the embassies from the Vatican later on today. I'm not even religious, but at this point I'll resort to anything to get rid of those dementors. This is the last stand! I will not sit idly by as my people are mercilessly murdered no matter what those wizards say!"

"I'm right behind you John, but you have to explain some things first. Who the hell is Voldymint or Voldymont, whatever it was. If this character can control these monsters we have to figure out what we'll do with him as well."

"Voldemort. Apparently back in the late 70s, early 80s, there was this mass murderer that was reeking havoc on the wizarding world. From what I gather he's like the wizard version of Hitler, except instead of Jews being the targets, we are. Apparently they we're able to defeat him at one point, but now he's come back and he's more powerful than ever. Even this Dumbledore fellow, supposedly he's the only man that Voldemort ever feared, can't defeat Voldemort. There's even this child, Harry Potter I think his name was, who is supposed to be able to defeat Voldemort, but I'm not holding my breath on that. The kid is freaking 16-years-old! I just hope they're giving him good training."

"16 you say? Is that even legal?" Clinton asked bemused. John himself had to say he had asked himself the same thing. Either way, what did it say about the wizards that they had to put all of their hope for salvation in a child?

"Either way," Clinton continued, "I can't _believe_ the Lord Minister over here, never told me what was going on in Britain! Does he not realize how important this is, how much we need to prepare for it? A wizard Hitler… Alright, first thing first, until we are able to get more information on this Voldemort fellow, we have to figure out a way to get rid of those dementors. Hopefully if we eliminate them a major part of that Voldemort's force will be eliminated. Do you know anything about them?"

"Other than that we can't see them, they won't die, they multiply like rabbits and they can eat your soul? No not really, the other Minister left before I could ask him any more questions." John replied. He looked outside to see the gloomy state of London. Even though it was July, the civilians where still bundled in light coats, all doing their best to brave the unnatural chill. John watched grimly as a mother bent down to zip up her child's coat. So many innocents where at stake.

"Come on John, we need more information! I'll do my best to learn more where I am but I have no way to contact the wizards. The last time I talked to them the only warning I received was a phone call that none of my best men could trace. There wasn't even any record of it! And then the next thing I know, right after I agree to seeing the man, he teleports right in my office. It nearly gave me a heart attack."

John frowned "I thought maybe you would be able to get in contact with them. Really, I was mostly hoping that another group of wizards would have already come up with a way of eliminating those dementors. But if you can't contact them I bet neither can any of the other Nations. I bet if I contacted Mitterrand right now, he wouldn't know anything either. He's the President of France for god's sake. You would think they might want to tell our neighbor about this plot to eradicate all the non-magicals."

Clinton was silent for a moment.

"You don't think," Clinton said slowly, "that this might be a plot of all the wizards?"

Now that made John have to stop and think, "What do you mean Bill? That this whole wizarding war might just be a ruse? I don't think so, there is no way that idiot of a man Fudge or Scrimgeour, could be the mastermind behind this all."

"Maybe not Fudge, but what about that Voldemort? What if Fudge and Scrimgeour are just pawns? I think I remember the Lord Minister once saying that the wizards could erase people's memories to prevent the public from knowing about them. What if all the wizards want to get rid of us and they devised this little war as an excuse for all the terror that's going on. What if they created it just to make sure we wouldn't look farther into it and so we would accept there was nothing we could do?"

John gasped, it was all coming together now! John lowered the phone and leaned back in his chair. And didn't Scrimgeour mention something called an imperious curse… a mind controlling spell! Jesus Christ, if those two were pawns, he might have been told what was happening just to keep him under control. And what would be the perfect way to make sure that he remained a predictable player, than to have someone constantly monitoring him? Kingsley Shacklebolt!

Suddenly John became aware of the rather loud conversation he had been having. And Kingsley was right on the other side of his office wall. Who was to say the man hadn't heard his every single word? Hands gripped so tightly that the knuckles where white, John brought the phone back to his ear.

"Bill I'm going to have to call you back." John choked out. "If I don't call back in the next thirty minutes something has gone very wrong and I'm either not alive or in the right state of mind. Please do everything you can to warn the other countries about this plot. I'll get back to you soon."

"Wait John! What happened? You can't expect me to be able to get rid of the wizards all by myself can you? Don't hang-"

The click resonated throughout the silent office as John terminated his call with the President. Adjusting his tie, John got shakily to his feet, doing everything he could to look the part of Britain's leader.

There was no way he would be able to continue that conversation until he was sure he wouldn't be overheard by Kingsley. John hoped against hope that the man hadn't been listening, that something else had occupied his attention for the past twenty minutes.

But John knew how unlikely that was. Honestly John didn't know what to expect when he opened his office door. Would it be as normal as ever, 3 awake and alert secretaries typing away? Or would he open to find a wand in his face. There was a great possibility he would be dead when he opened the door. That these might be his last few seconds breathing. A Prime Minister who new the truth would never be able to be controlled, it would be better to do without him.

Hands shaking John gripped the brass door handle before doing his best to harness that famous British stoicism. He would not show fear in the face of the enemy. John steadily began to feel his emotions drain until he was sure that his face was completely unreadable. Almost with a sense of numbness he opened the door, cringing internally as the door creaked.

And so, head held high, heart racing, John walked through the doorway.


End file.
